


Under the Boardwalk

by jovialien



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialien/pseuds/jovialien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cardiff is caught in the middle of the hottest day of the year so far, but Jack knows the perfect way to cool off - and create a heatwave of his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Boardwalk

Jack had lived through heatwaves before; he had visited tropical climes, fought his way across desert expanses and jungles, both on Earth and other worlds. But this was different. India, he expected to be too hot, but this was not India, this was Wales. This was _Cardiff_ . It was just wrong.   
  
Although, even Captain Jack Harkness had to admit, there were some things about it that were very, very right.   
  
The barely dressed men and women on the streets above his head didn't catch his eye, the expanses of skin almost distracting rather than enticing, and the obvious displays of bronze and tan on the CCTV images nowhere as interesting as the view he had now. Leaning back in his chair, the fan blowing the neck of his t-shirt, Jack watched across the Hub as Ianto stood in front of a tall fan, his eyes closed and head tilted back as he savoured the moment. In spite of the heat he still wore his suit, although the jacket was long gone and his tie was loosened, the small V of skin visible at the top of his neck and his shirt sleeves rolled up his only concession to the heat.   
  
For some reason, the small glimpses of pale skin were more interesting to Jack than if Ianto had been in shorts and a vest. The small trickle of sweat along his temple and trailing down into his collar was more than enough for Jack to want to kiss his way along it, burying his face in the warm skin, blowing cool air onto heated flesh. He didn't need bronzed six packs and muscular arms, dripping with sweat and glistening with sunlight; he just needed pale skin, cool Hub shadows and a suit.   
  
And that fan. The way Ianto appeared to be worshipping it, his arms out to his side like a supplicant praying for mercy from the endless heat, the way it flicked through his hair like invisible fingers and sent a soft ripple of occasional shivers through Ianto's skin was mesmerising. The Hub was not as warm as outside, the depths and darkness sparing them the blistering heat of the world above, but it was humid and close, the air lacking the fresh promise of a breeze or the patches of shadow that would bring with them a brief respite from the blazing sun. It was constant, unchanging-   
  
It was just too damn hot.   
  
But Jack knew it wouldn't be long now; the others were already finishing up, their bags being gathered and mugs abandoned in the kitchen area, friendly banter about the pub, cold pints and jumping in the bay being thrown back and forth. Ianto just smiled and replied without moving from his position by the fan, a long afternoon in the airless archives earning him the right to hog the cooler air. Jack barely noticed as his team drifted off, shouts of goodbye and waves of bare arms and funky t-shirts and vests becoming a blur as he replied on automatic, his attention elsewhere.   
  
Instead he focused on the suit, picturing the moment when he would finally be able to slide that tie free and cast it aside, releasing Ianto from his self imposed suffering. The waistcoat would be next, the buttons popping open and letting him slide his hands under the damp silk, the heat and sweat and feel of Ianto so messy and somehow raw and intoxicating. It would take longer to lose the shirt, the cotton soaked through under the waistcoat and clinging to his skin as though reluctant to give up its grip on him, fighting to hold him captive for just a little longer.   
  
Jack knew he would have to stop then, take a moment to just enjoy the sight of Ianto's flushed skin, his fingers unable to resist running over the fine hairs covering Ianto's chest, enjoying the contrast of them to his own smooth skin. He could already almost taste the small pattern of sweat he just knew would be waiting for him along Ianto's collarbone, lingering in the hollows and glistening cool and inviting in the Hub lights like an oasis in the desert sands.   
  
It would be almost impossible to resist joining Ianto there and then, stripping off his own layers and feeling the soft breath of the fan on his skin, but he knew he could last longer. His mission was to cool Ianto off first, and he knew just how. He would slide behind Ianto, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. A soft, gentle exhale through pursed lips would be enough, cooler air tickling the tiny hairs on the back of Ianto's neck, stirring them, a sudden flash of goosebumps making them stand on end, erect and waiting, sensitised and longing for more.   
  
Much like he hoped Ianto would be.   
  
The shoes and socks would go next; Jack would be kneeling in front of Ianto almost submissively and tending to his feet, watching the moment bare toes impacted the cold Hub floor, small explosions of heat and mist surrounding them and marking their way across the smooth concrete. He could picture the way Ianto would wiggle his toes, the move almost childish and carefree, in such contrast to the efforts of a day crammed inside smart shoes and a stiff suit.   
  
Jack could picture the way his fingertips would run over the indentations left by elastic and cotton on Ianto's ankles, teasing and reawakening the sore flesh, reviving him slowly as the blood returned, hot on the way down but cooler on the return journey, the chill of the floor carried with it. He could picture the way his fingers would disappear inside the dark trousers, hidden and secret, tracing over skin and hair and tickling and teasing until Ianto gave in and either laughed or begged for him to stop, to strip him, to finally shed the last pieces of his fabric prison.   
  
He could see himself, kneeling, waiting, his fingers sliding up over the outside now, gliding over the trousers until he was finally able to tug on the button and zip, patient but wanting so very much to move faster. They would give way to him, surrendering, and he would tug the last layers down, leaving just...    
  
Jack paused, his mind playing over the possibilities, the hidden layer so very important but so far unknown. Would it be briefs today, the snug support containing everything within, or would it be boxers, cool and unrestricting?   
  
Or would it be nothing at all?   
  
That was such a rare surprise, a treat that occasionally came Jack's way, nothing but the faintest smile on Ianto's lips alerting him to the hidden joke until he was confronted with it – quite literally. He knew Ianto wasn't a natural 'commando', something about it just a little too free for his outwardly reserved lover. But that just made it all the more exciting when it happened, knowing that it was something planned and hidden, done just for him, with the expectation of discovery...   
  
Jack swallowed hard and reached out to tilt the fan onto his face a little more, nudging it closer.   
  
Boxers were most likely, he decided. Probably plain white cotton, loose and hiding as much as they revealed, tantalising glimpses all he would get until after the trousers had been shed and cast aside. It would be all too tempting to nuzzle against the fabric, to feel the heat and soft and hard and damp sensations against his cheek, and the smell, somehow inviting and wrong at the same time, a scent that logic dictated should be repellent but actually was as intoxicating as the smell of rain carried on a welcome summer breeze, breaking through the heat with the promise of respite ahead.   
  
It would not take much to remove the cotton, just a gentle tug at the waistband, fingers sliding under the elastic and stretching it just enough to pull it down. He wouldn't look up, would keep his eyes firmly averted until it was gone, until Ianto was completely naked before him, the fan swirling cool currents of air over every part of his body. Then Jack would look, sitting back on his heels and just watching for as long as he dared, for as long as it took for that faint blush of embarrassment to ghost over Ianto's cheeks. Then he would move, before Ianto had to react or say something.   
  
He would rise to his feet and leave Ianto there, just still, basking in the chill in a dark mirror of a sun worshipper, embracing some ice demon instead of the warmth of Sol. Jack would move, going into the kitchen and opening the small fridge that was kept just for him, the others banned from using it or taking his stuff. The freezer was tiny, only big enough for a few boxes of microwave meals or a couple of small tubs of ice cream – or a bag of ice, freshly bought from the shop.   
  
A bowl to carry just enough for his purposes, just enough for now, would be all he needed. Stocked up, only then would he return, his fingers dipping into the china and selecting a cube and popping it into his mouth. He would be careful of his teeth, the chill not really hurting them but still not exactly comfortable in the same way any part of him would be when exposed to the ice for too long. Then a kiss, the first of the evening, would introduce Ianto to the treat, a welcome sweet after a long day and a promise of things to come.   
  
Jack would take it slow, he promised himself, alternating between fingers and lips to work his way over the whole of Ianto's body with the ice, slowly swapping sweat for slick water trails and hot for cold. He would pay special attention over the pulse points, lingering at the base of Ianto's neck, fingers moving as slow as they dared as ice water trickled down over Ianto's body, Jack's breath and the fan heightening the contrast as much as they could. He would kiss and lick over the inside of Ianto's wrists, feeling the veins and blood rushing through them, cooling and slowing with his slow progress.   
  
He would work his way down, from head to toe, but avoid the most secretive places, saving them for last and concentrating first on the pale flesh that others would be exposing proudly to the Sun on the boardwalk and gravel above their heads. Others would be showing the world the pieces of themselves that Ianto hid only for him, the sheer lack of sexual showing off and formality of his clothing choices somehow more erotic to Jack than a belly dancer's veils.   
  
Jack would taste and touch every inch of the skin that could be on show all the time, unnoticed and unremarkable amongst the throngs above them, savouring it and rewarding it for the sacrifice it made being cut off from the few blasts of cool air there were on a day like this. He would stroke and tease and revive every single part of Ianto's limbs and chest until he was cool again, the ice almost gone.   
  
Only then would he turn his attention to the hottest places of all, the feel of Ianto's pulse stronger between his thighs, the taste of him more concentrated in the creases between leg and body. He would lick and trace his fingers and the ice over every piece of skin and patch of hair, slicking everything before dipping a cold tongue into the most secret area of all, probing and catching every shiver and sound and millimetre that Ianto gave him in return for the attention.    
  
Only then, when he was sure Ianto was ready, would Jack give in to what he really wanted, dropping to his knees before him and teasing, tormenting and taking Ianto into his mouth fully, the last sliver of ice fading rapidly against the sheer heat of him. He would feel the chill vanish, replaced with rising heat once more and watch the flush return to Ianto's skin but from the inside out this time, not caused by the hot weather but rather a heatwave of their own making.   
  
Jack would feel the warm burst on his tongue, slick and heavy and leaving the lingering taste in his mouth that reminded him of sunny days on the beach, the sea spray painting his skin with the finest traces of salt. He would take it all, his hands supporting more than teasing now, making sure his lover was okay.   
  
Only then, only when Jack was sure Ianto was as good as he could possibly feel in the heat, would he take his own pleasure. He would strip, quickly, efficiently, embracing the rush of cooler air on his body and angling them both to face the fan even as he bent Ianto over one of the chairs, the harsh fabric almost too warm against his chest but the chill floor and spread of his arms enough to counteract it.    
  
They would face the breeze, letting it slide through sweat soaked hair and over damp skin as Jack took him, fast and furious and a complete contrast with the slow and cool seduction he had used before. It wouldn't take long, the sight and feel of Ianto, the way he would look back over his shoulder, his mouth slack and his eyes unfocused yet somehow staring right through Jack, more than enough to tip him over the edge.   
  
They would collapse, hot and spent, on the cold floor, feeling the chill soak into their bones until finally they had the strength to move again, soft, hot kisses reviving them slowly. Then, eventually, they would clamber to their feet, impressions of their sweat soaked skin left on the floor like bizarre x-rated snow angels. The showers would beckon, the promise of cold water and slick soap covering their skin, their bodies turning to welcome the flow like flowers greeting the watering can at dusk, wet touches leading to wet kisses and more, the night still young.   
  
Jack shivered in spite of the heat and reached out to click off the CCTV on his monitor, ignoring the skateboarding youths in baggy shorts and strolling couples, their t-shirts and short skirts and cut off jeans marking the return of summer at last. The Hub door was rolling shut, the last of the others gone at last, leaving Jack and Ianto alone for the warmest night of the year so far for the Welsh capital.   
  
The Plass above them and hot concrete pavements of Cardiff may have been hot enough to cook an egg on, but Jack knew one thing for certain; the hottest part of Cardiff that evening, was going to be many metres below its surface...

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Livejournal community torchwood_fest 's Summer Ball Fest, prompt "heatwave".


End file.
